


Also Known As: That One Time Tanaka Tried to Fight a Bird

by Scramblesthedeathdealer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scramblesthedeathdealer/pseuds/Scramblesthedeathdealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryuunosuke has had a rough day, and he just wants to have a beer. Just one measly, stupid beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Also Known As: That One Time Tanaka Tried to Fight a Bird

**Author's Note:**

> I've been stewing on this idea for a while. I love tananoya ,, dear god help me

     Ryuunosuke peels off his gloves and drops them into the small trash bin outside the office of the parlour, grasping at the door’s handle with a cramped hand to no avail. He glares at the offending appendage, twitching uselessly in pain after having spent hours curled around a machine stabbing ink into a person whom his boss would blithely label “ink-avoidant,” as if he thought he were being clever. After what seems like a full minute of failure, his exhausted brain seems to recognize that he in fact has another hand, and it is this which he uses to finally open the godforsaken door. Good going, Ryuu, he thinks as he collapses onto the office’s couch with a groan. The deep purple tacky faux-leather is oddly welcoming in the way it sinks dramatically under his weight, seemingly absorbing him (and boy, does he need to be absorbed after a day like this one). He checks his hands to make sure they’re clean before rubbing his drooping eyes. He’s so completely prepared to fall asleep right then and there on his boss’ couch that he startles when the door shuts and, from above the blockage of the couch cushion, a pair of strong (and admittedly attractive) thighs pass him by under ripped, ink-stained blue jeans.

     “It seems that you’re so dedicated to your job that you’ve decided to live at the shop full time, and that’s why you’re sleeping on my couch. Right, Tanaka?” asks his boss, Daichi, with a teasing tone. “Last night it was Hinata on my couch late at night, and now you. Next thing I know I’ll have my own little sweatshop.”

     “Yeah, sure,” Ryuunosuke jokes, his eyes gleaming with false mirth and his voice high and tense. “And next thing I know you won’t send me all the customers who bitch and moan after every goddamn pinprick.”

     He climbs his way out of the couch, a feat in itself, to stand up and stretch. Daichi gives him a sympathetic look before turning his attention to paperwork.

     “You heading out soon? Everyone else has already left,” Daichi informs him.

     “You don’t know how ready I am to get out of here and sleep, man,” he replies. “‘S been a long day.”

     “You and me both. Have a good one, Tanaka.”

     “See ya tomorrow, boss-man.” He at least gets to snicker at Daichi’s look of indignation at the nickname as he leaves the office. Ryuunosuke doesn’t generally consider himself a calm guy by any means. He’s actually very excitable and quick to anger, but the air of the parlour has the familiar scent of oil and incense (and “incense” of a different sense, courtesy of their piercer Tsukishima) that somehow always manages to soothe Ryuu’s nerves a little bit after a bad day. He grabs his jacket on his way out, and exhaustion settles heavy in his bones to match the weight of the thick leather falling over his shoulders.

 

 

* * *

 

 

     By the time Ryuunosuke manages to get home it’s already late, and the heaviness that had lingered under his eyelids had dissipated thanks to the cool wind of early-autumn. He locks the door of his apartment behind him and pauses just long enough to ask himself whether or not there’s still beer in his fridge. If there is, he’ll be in luck, but if not he’ll either have to forgo his evening lager or go back out and get some. Both thoughts make him cringe equally. He could always call up Tsukishima, who having just turned twenty won’t go without a deliciously legal drink for even one night. However that proves unnecessary, because one kitchen trip and one relieved sigh later he’s sitting out on his balcony nursing a cold one and stretching out his legs into the autumn air.

     He heaves a sigh through his nose, turned red from the chill of the evening. He’s trying to relax, but everything keeps drawing his attention in and keeping him alert. A door shuts and then there’s a weird arrhythmic noise, somewhere between a clink and a clang. He listens more closely, but he can’t quite place the sound. His right ear tells him up, but his left tells him down. He’s about to get up and investigate when he notices that there’s a red thing stuck to the heavy black ink on his forearm, the contrast of the colors drawing his attention. Has he eaten anything red today? Is it dried blood? Why would he be bleeding? He picks at it with his finger and realizes it is just a piece of plastic. Flicking it to the side with a little shrug, he lets his eyes slide closed again. He’s trying to ignore the outside world, but it seems like his mind doesn’t want that tonight. There seems to be a nagging little voice in his mind that’s telling him to listen to that unidentifiable clicking sound.

     Do it, Ryuu, it tells him. Do it, just go find it. It won’t take long. And after that you can go to bed. What if it’s a bomb, and ignoring it will kill everyone in the building? What if it’s a bomb and finding it will save everyone in the building?

     He smashes a hand against his cheek and wills his mind to shut itself off. He tries to unwind as best he can, but to no avail. He tries to stretch his body out to match his legs but pain blooms like a bundle of sparks in his lower back. He tries to cross his legs under him but they’re too long to fit on the chair. He folds one of his arms against his chest in a stretch but the tension in his shoulders remains, stubborn as ever, and he cracks his eyes open. Frustrated that his brain would give him shit about such small things when it should be resting, goddamnit, he resigns himself to going inside.

     Do it do it do it do it, the voice is saying, quiet and raspy, but cocky like it knows something he doesn’t. It’s somehow matching the irregular beat of the clicking and he cringes at the overstimulation.

     Shut up, he thinks at the voice, and thanks the stars when it actually listens. He drains the last of his beer and crushes the can in his hand. The aluminum cuts a little slice in his middle finger and he swears probably a touch too violently for such a small incident. Trying to ignore the ache in his bones (and the sting in his finger), he stands and throws his arms up over his head, enjoying the way his back pops when he stretches onto his toes. He slides open the patio door.

     “Little Bitch!”

     Ryuunosuke stills, his hand still on the sliding door. That voice, loud, annoying and shrill, had come from nowhere. Were they talking to him?

     “Are you talking to me?” He asks the voice, the beginnings of venom seeping into his words. He waits, but there’s no response. Psh, Ryuunosuke thinks. Maybe they just got scared. After a few more seconds of quiet he turns back around and takes a deep breath, sliding the patio door open.

     “Bitch.”

     The sliding door slams shut so hard Ryuunosuke is surprised it didn’t jump right off its hinges.

     “Listen up, motherfucker!” he exclaims, confident like he knows he’s up against someone weak, like a pottymouthed playground nerd. With his luck, the guy will be a two-meter-tall yakuza leader (just, with a freakishly-high voice for someone who is two meters tall). “If you’re gonna talk shit,” he thunders at the Probably-Yakuza, “Come down and talk shit to my face.”

     He has to find out where this Probably-Yakuza is. Ryuunosuke has the last apartment on his floor, and therefore there are only other apartments on one side. There are three balconies from where the voice could have come. From his own chair, he can see two of the three balconies adjacent to his: the one on his floor and the one on the floor above. The balcony above has several bicycles leaning on the railing, but no one outside. No one lives in the apartment next to his, which leaves the adjacent balcony on the floor below him.

     He storms to the railing of the balcony, pushing his lips into an obscene sneer. Ryuunosuke glares down at the Probably-Yakuza. The parrot blinks up at Ryuunosuke.

     “Oh my god,” he says aloud, to the parrot which is ruining his evening.

     “Oh my god,” the parrot repeats back to him, taking a few steps in its cage. Click click. Click.  Ryuunosuke, realizing that the parrot is indeed the source of the incessant clicking, resists the urge to fling himself headfirst off the balcony.

     “Oh my god,” he says again in disbelief. He just tried to fight a parrot. He just tried. To fight. A bird.

     “Oh my god,” the parrot, well, parrots.

     “Did I ask for your opinion?” He sputters, and storms inside.

     Meanwhile, a pet shop owner sits at his open window and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> criticize the hell out of this, please.  
> plasma-princess.tumblr.com


End file.
